


Poetry Carved in Flesh

by Eridanie



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Body Modification, Kink Meme, M/M, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Scarification
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:29:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5610523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eridanie/pseuds/Eridanie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal had left him behind with a gaping wound to remember him by. Every time he felt the twinge of pain in his gut he thought of Hannibal, of how he clutched his face lovingly, possessively as he had eased the knife in, penetrating him as gently and seductively as a lover. For a flash he had seen such a look of gutted anguish at Will’s betrayal before his face returned to that maddeningly passive smirk. But that flash had been too revealing, his empathy clamped onto that second leaving him reeling from more than just blood loss. He could see now, unfortunately, how much he had wounded Hannibal, and when he woke up in the hospital, obviously alive, he knew it was by Hannibal’s design. That he had started something that could never be over until one or both of them was dead. ‘Till death do us part’ he’d wanted to laugh hysterically at the thought. He guessed this scar was his wedding ring then.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poetry Carved in Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt for the Hannibal Kink Meme that was highly endorsed by many others. I've never written anything like it before but it was such a desired prompt (I think one person even promised their first born), and I thought it sounded really great so I decided to give it a shot. I didn't really make it an AU where he didn't "go after" Hannibal because it would be a shame to whitewash over Hannibal's epic/creepy/romantic foreplay across Europe, and I didn't want to have to come up with an alternate version for how Hannibal ended up in jail. Anyway the important part is the scarification and Hannibal's reaction to it later right?
> 
> I think this will have 2 or 3 chapters before it's done.
> 
> The title is a lyric from a HIM song called Passion's Killing Floor.
> 
> I have no beta so let me know if you see something I should fix.
> 
> I reposted because apparently it was originally tagged as Thomas Harris tetralogy which it really isn't.
> 
> Original prompt here:
> 
> "Making Beauty in Negative Spaces aka Will and Scarification
> 
> Okay so in episode 3 we caught a glimpse of Will's stomach scar. What I would love is an AU where will does not go after Hannibal but instead tries to pick up the pieces of his life, but every time he looks in the mirror he sees his scar and feels branded and marked, so he gets a scarification design over the scar on his stomach to make it his own and in a metaphorical way take his body back (plus a kind of fuck you to Hannibal). When Hannibal escapes jail and they meet again Hannibal sees Will shirtless and sees a beautiful work of art where an ugly scar would be. His reaction his up to the writer but for the love of god please make it happen !!!!!!"

Hannibal had left him behind with a gaping wound to remember him by. Every time he felt the twinge of pain in his gut he thought of Hannibal, of how he clutched his face lovingly, possessively as he had eased the knife in, penetrating him as gently and seductively as a lover.

 

For a flash he had seen such a look of gutted anguish at Will’s betrayal before his face returned to that maddeningly passive smirk. But that flash had been too revealing, his empathy clamped onto that second leaving him reeling from more than just blood loss. He could see now, unfortunately, how much he had wounded Hannibal, and when he woke up in the hospital, obviously alive, he knew it was by Hannibal’s design. That he had started something that could never be over until one or both of them was dead. ‘Till death do us part’ he’d wanted to laugh hysterically at the thought. He guessed this scar was his wedding ring then.

 

It had itched constantly when it really started healing. He tried not to touch it, but he often itched it in his sleep, leaving the healing wound a little pink and ruddy in the mornings. When they took his sutures out he was left with a puffy pink arch of raised skin across his torso. He pressed his hand to it occasionally and he could feel Hannibal there, inside him, caressing his guts with his blade.

 

Once the scar had healed he continued to have phantom pains, twinges and spasms from deep in his gut. Intensifying with insistent urgency as he chased Hannibal across Europe, as though the act of searching out, the feeling of needing him could keep him from fully healing.

 

But it was almost worse when it didn’t hurt. He would forget then, his past seeming to drift away into the conspicuousness of the present. Then when he undressed and saw it there, seeming to gleam cheerily up at him and the pain in his gut and his heart would come kicking back to life like the roar of the rushing tides. He knew the pain wasn’t real, but it should be real. It didn’t feel right for someone to leave such an everlasting brand on him only to be forgotten and fade away. He hoped whatever marks he left on Hannibal weren’t fading away, and he hated himself for this desperate trivial need.

 

When he had let himself let go and Hannibal had been shut behind the walls of the BSHCI. When he had let himself try to move on, the pain had faded to the minimal ache of scar tissue and only surfaced if he twisted his muscles tightly against the healed flesh. The pain had faded even as the scar had faded, and now it took on the tone of the distant past as all his other scars had.

 

After it had faded to a smooth and silvery line it looked kind of beautiful there. The contrast against his skin made it seem to shine. But it was still large and disturbing enough that he couldn’t take his shirt off at the gym with out people staring and darting glances to and away from him like they were scared he would look at them. Or even worse they would start asking questions. I guess most people don’t think anything of asking about a scar. They probably assume it’s from a car accident or surgery, something he wouldn’t mind talking about. No one thinks it could be a scar from the single most devastating relationship he’s ever experienced. Those are usually invisible, at least for most people.

 

Of course Will was quite used to this. The feeling of otherness he had always seemed to emanate, even as he felt it in his own bones had made him seem awkward and strange to people, they had always seemed to watch him with fascination but a hesitancy to approach, like he might bite. Now at least when they look it seems like he might have a reason for being so strange, so he tries not to think about it too often.

 

But he still had dreams, or nightmares maybe, where Hannibal would close on him with unspeakably profane intimacy, his blade flashing, reflecting back the twisted blackened shape of the Wendigo as he sliced into Will again. Pulling him close, stroking him tenderly. He would awake drenched in sweat, achingly hard, hands clasped to his stomach, and he could still feel the warmth of his own blood flowing past his fingertips. He would get up then, queasy and fearful; he would throw up in the bathroom, and shower until the sensation faded away. Then he would go back to bed. Call the dogs onto the bed to keep him company and lie there, ineffectually attempting to return to sleep, to banish his twisted thoughts until the sunrise came.

 

He spoke to Alana about his issues sometimes because he knew she would worry about him otherwise. He was careful to keep the deformity of his thoughts and his heart from her. Veiling his real issues under a patina of vague normalcy. Sadness, trauma, regret, all laid bare while he carefully disguised the twisted thoughts that were the true cause. He didn’t like hiding from her. She was so unquestionably a good and decent person, it made him want to be his best self for her. He couldn’t bear to see the judgment and pain in her eyes again. The way she had behaved around him after he’d tried to kill Hannibal had felt devastating, and he knew he couldn’t suffer that again. She was too precious to him for the truth.

 

When he had discussed a watered down version of his nightmares with her she had suggested he find a way to take back ownership of his body, a way to claim the scar for himself, to make it part of his own story. He considered this carefully as she watched him. Would it feel right to alter the form and meaning that lay across his skin? Or would it feel like he was defacing some natural wonder of astonishing and ancient beauty? He wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea, but one thing he knew was that it would help him remember, help him feel it as deep as he should. Maybe it wouldn’t feel like destruction. Maybe it would feel like creation, his body becoming an artistic collaboration.

 

The idea had gripped him for the rest of the day, but after that he hadn’t given it much thought. Not until three weeks later when he had walked past a Tattoo/Piercing studio that had posted pictures of various pieces across the front. The idea of getting tattooed had never really appealed to him although he had nothing against it in principal, but as he gazed at the art trailing across the farthest edge of the window he saw some pictures of some beautiful scarification pieces. Across previously smooth yet dull flesh, the artist had rendered an indelible artwork with nothing but the bodies own healing mechanisms. It was poetry carved in flesh. He loved it.

 

* * *

 

He went home, he thought about it for a few days. He began researching designs online. He didn’t really like any of the designs he saw online, but he supposed he shouldn’t get one someone else already had anyway. The whole idea was to make the scar his own, maybe not so much take back ownership of his body, but to show that he had just as much control over the design of it as Hannibal did. So it needed to be something personal, something that meant something to him.

 

He thought of the Ravenstag, unlike his other hallucinations it had always been helpful, almost a friend, it’s role in his waking fantasies had always been to assist him, to show him, it didn’t feel foreign or dangerous. It was familiar. Comforting. He could never be sure what any of his hallucinations might mean, but when he had lain there bleeding out and losing his mind with grief, it had been there with him, fading away as he faded.

 

He wished he could draw as well as Hannibal, but he’d never had any aptitude for it. If he attempted anything more complicated then stick figures it was unrecognizable. This unfortunate reality had been confirmed for him every time he had tried to answer a trainee’s impromptu questions with the visual aid of the dry erase board. Whenever he had looked back out at them they had only seemed more confused.

 

He looked up the shop he had passed online. They had posted the artist’s portfolios. He browsed though them till he found the one that had scarification in it. Molly. Huh. He had assumed it would be a man. Must be implicit bias. When people think of someone willing to carve into human flesh for their career they probably assume it’s a guy. He wonders how much she has to deal with that misconception. As a man whose skill set was not in the wheelhouse of what people perceived to be a very manly skill, Will could relate to a life of constantly defying peoples expectations.

 

Her photo showed an attractive woman with shaggy, sandy blonde hair with a fringe of bangs almost to her eyes. Perhaps it was just a fashion choice, or perhaps she too enjoyed hiding under shaggy hair. Her portfolio had almost an equal amount of tattoos and scar pieces. He could tell from the designs that the scarification pieces were her favorite. The designs we more elaborate, more beautiful, while a lot of the tattoos were clearly designed by the customers. She also had many drawings as examples of her design skills, and those in particular he really loved. He saw that she did design consultations so he called and booked an appointment. Perhaps she could come up with a design based on his vague ideas of what he wanted.

 

* * *

 

As he entered the shop for his appointment he saw a few men with shaved heads, full tattoo sleeves, and gauged ears that were stretched wide like windows. It made him feel distinctly out of place, and like a bit of a square. The most rebellious thing about his appearance was the shaggy curls he let hang around his face and his constant scruff of a beard.

 

But these men had made themselves into works of art. Expressing their aesthetics right there on their skin. He could see the appeal. They weren’t hiding themselves like so many did, they emblazoned themselves across their flesh with a brutal and complete honesty that he new he wasn’t strong enough for. But if all went according to plan, he would at least have a private emblem of self-expression under his clothes. He would have something besides year after year of injuries and painful memories marking his body.

 

He stepped up to a clear glass counter that had register on top and rows of displayed body jewelry inside the glass shelves. The woman at the counter was very young. She had dyed black hair that was divided into two long braids, and very short bangs. As he came closer he saw she had piercings on either side of her lips and a half sleeve in pastel colors poking out from underneath her t-shirt. She smiled up at him cheerily.

 

“How can I help you?”

 

“I had an appointment with Molly.” He answered.

 

“Oh yes, Mr. Graham.” She replied.

 

And now he felt very old. “Yes. Will Graham” he added.

 

“Okay Molly is behind the third door on the left. The one that’s painted green.”

 

He thanked her and walked across the shop to the green door she had indicated. It was slightly ajar but he knocked anyway. “Come in” he heard a low woman’s voice say. He walked in and saw Molly standing by what looked somewhat like a massage table. Her hair was longer, and she was shorter than he had pictured, but also much prettier than she looked in her picture. Now he was even more nervous. He could feel his palms start to prickle with sweat.

 

“Hi I’m Molly.” She said holding out her hand.

 

Will wiped his palm across his coat before taking her hand.

 

“Will Graham. Nice to meet you.” She smiled at him and gestured for him to sit down.

 

“So what kind of design were you thinking about getting Will?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I think you can guess by now which Molly he just met. Yes, it's that Molly. I however, have no intention of delving much into their relationship or writing any het, I just thought it would be a cool way for them to have met. At some point I fully intend to gloss past their marriage and get too Hannibal's reaction. I don't know what his reaction will be yet, but 'if past behavior is an indicator of future behavior'... (my behavior that is) then it's likely whatever it is it will eventually end in porn.
> 
> Let me know if you have any ideas for where this should go, what his piece should look like, or if you have general questions or suggestions about what I've written so far.
> 
> I've been figuring tumblr out lately so if you are so inclined you can follow me there, I'm also just Eridanie on Tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/blog/eridanie
> 
> I will follow back unless your account is filled with stuff that might cause me to start fights with you. I'm not super contentious, but it's really for the betterment of all of Tumblr if I don't end up following someone who loves Ayn Rand or Trump or something :p


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